


Once Again, for the Win

by tisfan



Series: Open Ask Prompts [5]
Category: Captain America, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Again, Biological Weapons, Christmas Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapped Tony Stark, Multi, Terrorism, stupid bad guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 18:54:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9002623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: Feelingsinwinter: Hi! \o So, as I was saying, some angs shit: Tony get captured. Pretty comon. Uncomon? Tony being badly injured. The villain of the week need to have something done and the Avengers being in their way, they set up an ingenius way to have them off of theem. A life camera feed is set for them to have an eye on Tony the whole time, seeing him bleeding to death in front of their eyes. They need to find him before it's too late and, in the meantime, find a way to stop the villain. (1/2)The second part isn’t useful really, just an idea I got while thinking about that “prompt” but what if Tony find a way to give a message through the live feed? Maybe he knows they are seeing him and try to help them, through pain and bloodloss, by… morse code or maybe ASL or something? In my first idea, it was either Natasha or Bucky understanding first (for the morse) or Clint for the ASL. Uh… Winteriron pretty please? (2/2) Let me tell you again how amazing you are ! You are amazing! <3





	

**Author's Note:**

> Author Note: I was working on this when @everyworldneedslove pointed out that while I was running the Bucky/Tony with Natasha as brotp, it was reading more like WinterIronWidow, so… I made a few adjustments and that’s what you got…

“No, come on,” Tony said, struggling with the zip ties that bound him to the chair. “Why is it _always_ me? Can’t you fucknuts ever kidnap Clint, for a change? I mean, I understand not wanting to fuck with the Black Widow, because she would eat you jackasses alive, but man, I can _not_ be the only ransom subject worth snatching on the team.” 

They ignored him. Par for the course, really. Just about every stupid bad guy on the planet knew better than to talk to Tony Stark. He ran circles around most people verbally; when they weren’t trying to knock his teeth down his throat, but hey, you never knew until you tried and he had a great dental plan, so…

 “So, what’s the deal this time? Money? Because fuck, I’m tired, it’s the weekend, it’s Christmas. I just want to go home and let my boyfriend fuck me through the mattress, so just give me a number, I’ll pay it. Seriously, money’s of no interest to you?” 

“Not today, Mr. Stark,” someone said. Villain #1, okay. Tony’s head hurt already and he didn’t feel like being clever. Seriously, this sucked. Like what even was his life that being kidnapped was fucking routine. Like Fate thought if he hadn’t been strapped to an uncomfortable chair at least once every other season, there’d be hell to pay? “Perhaps if you’d stumbled over our plan six months ago, we could have used your backing, but now? Now we have better uses for you.” 

Ug. It hurt, so bad, to want to facepalm and have his hands bound behind his back. Seriously, he was going to get eyestrain. And what plot, exactly? He hadn’t stumbled on shit, he’d gone to the fucking liquor store in a hoodie and sunglasses to pick up another bottle of scotch because some dumbass (he wasn’t going to accuse his girlfriend of doing it to her face, but it was totally Natasha) in the Tower had challenged Clint to water bottle flip Tony’s last bottle of scotch right before Christmas and the bottle had landed correctly, and then busted into a million tiny alcoholic shards. What, he was supposed to have no eggnog? No, no, that wasn’t happening. 

On the plus side, he had notified at least two Avengers (the two he was dating, who often went all mother-hen over his ass whenever he randomly disappeared, as if he hadn’t gotten to being forty-five years old all on his own accord without their deadly Russian spy-selves keeping an eye on him.) of where he was going -- Bucky had flat out refused to trudge through the fucking snow when “I just got out of the goddamn shower, Tony, I don’t want my hair to freeze, thank you very fucking much” -- so it shouldn’t be that long before the team came looking for him. Tony did not envy this particular group of stupid when Bucky came looking for him; Bucky was usually not entirely unreasonable about taking prisoners, but even the stupidest beekeepers and Hydra goons had given up trying to hurt Iron Man if the Winter Soldier was anywhere in a fifty mile radius. 

Normally, he wouldn’t have walked himself out of the Tower, but Natasha was watching horrible sappy Christmas movies and Tony’d been feeling a little down as it was, and if he had to watch the end of _It’s a Wonderful Life_ again, he was going to bawl like a baby. In retrospect, avoiding getting teased by Natasha might actually be worth getting kidnapped. Maybe. Probably not, but he’d certainly take it as a silver lining in this case. 

Which meant that when Bucky came looking, he was going to have Natasha with him, and these guys were walking corpses that just didn’t know it yet. Tony could almost feel sorry for them. 

Except that guy had a fucking needle. _Doctor_ Villain, okay. No, no good. Without looking at Tony, Dr. Vil wrapped a rubber tourniquet around Tony’s arm, tapped his cold fingers against the crook of Tony’s elbow and raised a vein. He jammed the needle into Tony’s arm and blood started seeping down the straw and into a bucket. 

“Come on, guys,” Tony said, “I know I’m late on my Red Cross donation, but I promise, next week for sure, I’ll even do a double reds…” 

No response. 

Oh, no, no, no. This was bad, this was very goddamn bad. 

* * *

 

“Mr. Barnes,” JARVIS said, “I believe we have an unauthorized signal coming through. It appears to be a matter of some urgency, shall I put it through?” 

“Keep it locked down, this line only,” Bucky said. “Make sure they’re not piggybacking a Trojan Horse or other nasties.”

“As always, Mr. Barnes.” 

The video feed on the laptop flickered, and then came in strong, a close up on Tony’s face. He was pale, eyes sunk and weary. Someone had punched him at some point, his cheek was already swollen, the skin split just under his eye. 

“Do you know how long it takes a man to bleed to death? I imagine you do.” An unidentified man said. 

The camera flickered down, tracing an obscene, loving line down Tony’s chest, which was bare and covered with bruises, the scar where the arc reactor used to be was livid and shiny, glinting in the half-light. Across Tony’s chest was a plastic tube of blood, attached to his arm. Lower again, and the blood was dripping into a mop bucket. 

“It’s a slow drip.” The voice said. The camera moved back to focus on a pinch in the line that was letting Tony’s blood leak out of him, a few drops at a time. “So, I expect he’ll keep for another few hours, maybe more. He’s not in pain, just a little tired. It’ll be like going to sleep. He’ll never know you don’t come for him.” 

Tony shuddered and managed to raise his chin, looking at the camera. His brown eyes were wide and sunk, red-rimmed. “Really tired of this shit,” he said. “Like, damsel someone else for a change. Fuck them, I’ll goddamn rescue myself.” 

The person behind the camera chuckled. 

“In the meanwhile, Grand Central Station. Two days before Christmas. Busiest place in the country. La Guardia airport, with travelers headed all over the world. It’d be a real shame if someone set off a biological agent in those places, wouldn’t it? I bet people would remember if the Avengers could have prevented it, but didn’t, because they were too busy saving their weakest member. So, your choice, dear friends.” 

They sat the camera down, focused on Tony, on the blood dripping from his arm. 

Bucky crushed the television remote in his hand. 

“What’s the plan?” Clint asked. “Come on, there’s gotta be a plan.” 

“Yasha’s with me, we’ll go get Tony,” Tash said, snapping them all out of their stupor. “Thor, you’re with Clint, get to Grand Central and find the terrorist. Sam, give Cap a lift to the airport. TSA is a lot more likely to respond positively to Captain America. JARVIS, locate me a supply of Type A pos, and a transfusion kit.” 

“Hey, guys,” Tony said and Bucky turned his attention reluctantly to the screen, not wanting to watch as the life drained out of his boyfriend. “Can somebody remember to let the dogs out, huh? They haven’t gone for a walk all day.” 

“What the hell is he talking about?” Clint asked, puzzled. 

“The suit, of course. JARVIS, wait til we get down there, we’ll need to follow it.” 

“Of course, Agent Romanov. Bring him home safely.” 

“As always.” 

* * *

 

“You won’t fit,” Tash said, yanking a handful of Bucky’s hair. “You’re five inches taller than Tony and you outweigh him by at least fifty pounds. Follow me on your bike.” 

Tash stepped into the armor’s boots and Bucky watched as it closed up around her. He knew, knew it wasn’t Tash he was angry with, but it filled him with rage, watching Tony’s armor on her, seeing that familiar figure, moving different, somehow sly and stealthier than Tony _ever_ was. Under other circumstances, he would have found it incredibly sexy to see her in Tony’s armor, the way they both found it unbearably sexy when she was wearing Tony’s t-shirts or had pulled Bucky’s hoodie over her red hair. 

Bucky grabbed his helmet and mashed it over his head, straddling the Augusta F4CC. The engine’s rev usually felt good, but tonight, it just aggravated him. Even at the speeds the bike could manage, Tash was going to get there way ahead of him. 

“Let’s go get our boy back,” Tash said, and JARVIS released the other armor; tiny jets rocketing the pieces across the city in a line to wherever Tony was being held. Tash took three running steps in the armor, jumped up and the repulsors whined to life. JARVIS was mostly piloting, following the signals that the mobile armor gave off. 

Bucky took his foot off the floor, threw the bike into gear and shot out of the garage with a roar. 

He was, and he knew it, a fucking traffic hazard. The bike was slick, smooth engineering, the Ferrari of motorcycles, sleek and thin and Bucky braided traffic and whizzed around obstacles like he could fly. Pedestrians bailed, screaming, swearing, and Bucky flattened a couple of cafe tables rather than running people down. If he hadn’t been enhanced, able to track the smallest movements while speeding along at over a hundred miles an hour, he’d have killed someone. Several someones, and what was more, he wouldn’t have stopped. 

He weaved, cut the corner a little close as Tash took an unexpected bank; she could climb to get over the building’s roofs, but Bucky had to go the long way around, crap, there was roadwork -- he leaned hard to the left, pushing the bike up over a girder, rode it up. The bike shot off the end of the steel beam, and he put it down, sweet as you please, on top of the concrete k-rails, riding them past the edge of the construction and then dropped back to street level without losing more than a klick on Tash. 

He twisted the gas, pushing more speed out of the bike. 

Obviously, they were close, because the pieces of armor didn’t dodge around the next building, but instead smashed through the window and Tash was in after it, spinning, the repulsors leaving a trail of light behind them for just a moment. Bucky spared a moment’s agony for his bike, then took the door out in a single charge, hitting the deck and sliding across the floor, sparks exploding in his wake. He rolled to his feet, guns in hand, before the bike even fetched up against the far wall, tires spinning and the engine complaining. 

Bucky gave the room a quick look-see before tearing his helmet off and getting the combat goggles in place; infrared gave him several targets and he took them without thinking. Someone would have warned him, if they were civvies; anyone in the building better fucking be a target, because Bucky was not fucking kidding around. 

His guns rattled empty and Bucky threw them aside, getting thick into the melee now, knives coming to his hands like kin. He waded into the mess, throat stab there, dragging the edge across an unprotected stomach -- who the fuck messed with the Avengers and then didn’t put goddamn body armor on? The floor around him grew slick and sticky with blood, the smell in his nostrils and they kept coming. How the fuck many of them were there? 

The room was lit by repulsor fire and Bucky’s goggles adjusted for the flare-comp; two Iron Man armors blasted into the room, hovering and firing. 

The air was full of micro-missiles. Bucky yanked a machine gun away from one hostile and used it to mow a bunch more of them down. Fire raked across his back, someone got a lucky shot in. Bucky emptied the clip into them, then threw the gun at another, breaking the guy’s neck from the way he went down. 

Tony was whirling in his dance of destruction; there was no mistaking the smooth flight and mayhem for anything other than Tony. No one flew like Tony did, all grace and dazzle. 

Finally, finally, the bad guys clued in, all maybe five of them who were left and they fled. Or tried to. Bucky wasn’t feeling like letting them live to fight another day and he vaulted off Tash’s helping hand to knock them down like ninepins. 

“Winter Soldier,” Tony said, putting a gauntleted hand on Bucky’s shoulder as Bucky raised up to bring his knife down on a man’s chest -- again -- and gut him like a fatted calf. “Enough. Stand down.” 

A moment later, and Bucky was standing guard over while they stripped out of the armor and Tash got a transfusion going. “Oh, Tony, baby, we got you, we got you.” She stared at her hands for a moment, Bucky watched her will them into stillness before she inserted the IV line into his other arm. 

“Put an anticoagulant in me before they got started,” Tony said, messing with the outgoing line until he had it clamped off. “Better, right now, to just leave the needle in place.” 

“Bastards,” Tash muttered, tearing off strips of medical tape and securing the line. 

“Well, I think we got ‘em all,” Bucky said. Nothing in the room was stirring, not even a mouse. He thumbed his comm unit. “We’ve retrieved our package, how’s things on your end?” 

“Um, I hope no one wanted this guy alive, because Thor kinda crisped him,” Clint reported, his voice awed. “Like, charcoal briquette.” 

“T’was most prudent,” Thor said, not sounding at all apologetic. “Necessary to contain the virus he was already in the process of releasing.” 

“We’ve got ours, too,” Steve reported. “Falcon took a few turns dropping him and catching him before he’d give up the location of the locker where he stored the device, but there’s a bomb-squad on it now.” 

“Happy is on his way with a car, baby,” Tash said, smoothing Tony’s hair out of his face. “We’ll get you home and warmed up, okay?” 

Bucky didn’t have words; that was Tash’s job in their relationship. Bucky was all physical and broody looks and deep emotional still waters. Tash was the feelings, and Tony provided the fun. It worked. Bucky reached down a hand and touched Tony’s shoulder where he rested against Tash’s legs, all weary and aching. 

Tony twined their fingers together, squeezing lightly. “Getting really tired of being damselled, Bucky,” he said. 

Bucky grumbled, deep in his chest. “You weren’t,” he said. “We’d have never found you in time if you hadn’t rescued your own damn self.” 

“They can’t help it,” Tash said, kissing Tony’s cheek, then his forehead, then his mouth, reassuring herself that he was here, he was alive, he was going to be fine. Bucky knew exactly how she felt, and if he wasn’t worried about an ambush, he might do it himself. “You’re too sexy to resist. Everyone wants to take you home.” 

“Well, I’m only going home with you two,” Tony said.  
  
“Happy’s here,” Bucky reported. “Let’s get you home, dollface. One more time, for the win.”


End file.
